NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1990, PORTLAND, OR

        THE DRIVE TO Portland on that New Year's Eve had turned out to be far more entertaining than Reagan had first imagined it to be. But, she knew it was because that Chris had tagged along with her for Nirvana's show at the Satyricon that night and chosen to ride in Nirvana's van with the rest of the band.

Reagan hadn't been too worried about integrating Chris into the portion of her life concerning Dave, Kurt and Krist. Naturally, she'd been right that her best friend would hit it off with the three guys and the rest of their helpful roadie crew. Her slick jokes and knowledge of all things music kept everyone's attention locked on her as they crossed state lines into Oregon.

Originally, Reagan had planned to attend Nirvana's New Year's Eve show alone, knowing Shelli would keep her company in the audience. Yet, the nagging reminder that she'd neglected to introduce Chris to Dave, even after weeks of dating him, had entered her mind. So she'd asked Chris to come to the show, to which Chris had enthusiastically said yes. Not only had she been anticipating meeting Dave, but she would have never turned down a concert at the Satyricon.

Reagan listened and occasionally jumped into the exchange going on in the van as she sat with Dave's arm around her shoulder in the farthest back seat. Lawlessly, a glass bottle of whiskey was being transferred around the van. Dave was the current holder of the amber-filled bottle, swigging it against his lips and throwing goofy smiles Reagan's way.

"I have an idea!" Chris crowed. She turned around and slung herself halfway over her seat in order to stare at Dave and Reagan. "I have to talk it over with Kurt, but how about we kick Krist and Dave out of the band and you and I take their places, Reags?"

"I object!" Krist protested loudly from the driver's seat, glancing up at the group in his rearview mirror. Kurt sat up front beside him, a cup in his hand as he swirled its contents around. The last time Reagan had checked, he'd been making himself a whiskey and Coke, trying to pour without spilling as the van went over bumps in the road.

"I'm okay with it," Dave said with a genial look on his face. "I've always wanted to know what it would be like to be a groupie, anyways."

"We are not groupies," Chris scowled, snatching the bottle of whiskey from Dave's hand. "I could outplay you guys any day and so could your girlfriend."

"I know she can," Dave said, looking into Reagan's eyes purposefully. Reagan smiled and patted his knee.

"At least he knows what he's talking about," she said.

"If you guys kick the boys out, then Kurt has to go too. I'll try to sing for us," Shelli added. She was seated next to Chris and she too turned to look at Reagan and Dave, grinning.

"It's my band. You can't kick me out," Kurt said from the front. He tilted his cup back and gulped, keeping his eyes laser-focused on the road ahead.

"There are traitors among us," Krist warned playfully, peering at his wife while wielding the van into a left turn.

The group arrived at the Satyricon and piled out in the dingy back alleyway of the club. Chris produced a pack of cigarettes and dished them out to Shelli and Reagan as the three of them stepped aside and allowed the Nirvana crew to unload the van. Reagan balanced her cigarette between her fingers, sucking hard on each of her inhales as she trained her eyes where Dave stood.

She watched him pull miscellaneous equipment from the back of the van with ease, passing them helpfully over to roadies who carried them inside the venue. It was embarrassing to admit, but she liked watching him in that moment. There was something attractive about the way he moved, making small talk and laughing as he lifted item after item in his arms. She would have never guessed from his gangly frame that he could be strong, but then again, he showcased his undeniable tenacity behind the drum kit.

Her heart, thrumming irregularly in her chest, seemed to flutter when she realized once more that Dave was hers. It was becoming less of an odd thing to admit. Like simple addition, he was hers and she was his and there was nothing else more to it. Reagan had always imagined relationships to be more complicated than that, but with Dave, it was all simplistic.

"I wish you would have introduced me to everyone sooner," Chris said, interrupting Reagan's continued gazing towards Dave. She jostled her friend with her elbow and grinned. "I'm having fun."

"Wait until they get on stage," Shelli added. "Then you might understand why Reagan hangs around us so much."

"I think she hangs around for more than just the music." Chris gestured in Dave's direction with a flicker of her eyes, placing her cigarette back between her smiling lips.

"Right," Reagan said flippantly. She threw her unfinished cigarette to the cement and grounded out its burning ember with the heel of her boot. Her reply may have been loaded with sarcasm, but she knew there was some truth to Chris's allegation. Dave certainly had a way of keeping her around.

They all entered the Satyricon and trailed their way backstage, waiting impatiently for the show to begin. Chris walked the area freely, chatting with the other musicians present. Reagan watched from one of the couches as her friend talked animatedly with her hands to one of the band members of Caustic Soda. It was nice to have Chris there, but even nicer that Reagan did not have to babysit her.

Dave and Krist had scattered off with the intention of hunting up more alcohol while their openers performed on stage. The night was still early, but everyone surrounding Reagan seemed to hold a hazy buzz as they walked around, grinning and yapping under the spell of another passing New Year's. Reagan would have liked to have been halfway towards drunk too, but she'd passed many times on sips from the whiskey bottle in the van. Too much of the drink and she would have been making a fool of herself.

She surveyed the room, looking away from Chris's enthusiastic conversation and towards the poor excuse of a refreshments table. It must have been somewhat orderly before the slated bands had arrived, making a mess of the food, alcohol and beverages that had once lined the plastic surface. Kurt stood in front of it, his frame swallowed up by one of his oversized sweaters and his hand wobbling as he poured himself another drink.

Reagan took the opportunity to stand and approach him, popping her head over his shoulder as he filled his cup with a new mixture of liquor and soda. His shoulders jerked in surprise when he noticed her standing there.

"You scared me," he accused, shaking his head so that his greasy blonde locks, matted down from a few days without wash, shook around his face.

"You're getting kind of drunk," Reagan remarked, glancing down into Kurt's cup.

"Are you my mother?" he asked, a dry smile on his face as he turned around and lifted his drink to his mouth.

"No, I guess I'm not," she said, matching the smirk he wore and watching as he swallowed back his concoction. Kurt may have enjoyed being ambiguous with the people around him, but Reagan had succeeded along with the ranks of his closest friends at chipping away his covert exterior.

"Will you take a shot with me?"

Reagan almost blurted out a yes, but she considered that the more Kurt drank, the less capable he would be of playing for the gaggle of people awaiting Nirvana out front. She wondered how painful it might be to watch him mess up the performance, but then again, it was Kurt's way to be outlandish. He did not necessarily need to be sober to put on a show.

"Okay," she agreed. Kurt reached for the bottle of vodka behind him, but Reagan snatched it before he could close his fingers around the neck of the bottle. He looked at her incredulously.

"I'll pour," she insisted. Knowing Kurt, he would have given her more than a shot. His dosage would have gone up to the rim of her cup. He nodded affably as she served them both two shots, sloshing at the bottom of their cups. Reagan handed Kurt his and he raised it in toast.

"Uhm . . . to you," he said, smiling as if he knew something that she did not.

"To me? Why to me?"

"Well, I'm not going to toast to myself, am I?"

Kurt tossed back the shot and Reagan scrambled to follow suit, washing the burning liquid back into her throat and wincing against its sting. She puckered her lips and made a face, earning a laugh in response from Kurt.

"I thought you told me once that you enjoyed shots," Kurt said, taking Reagan's empty cup out of her hand and filling it once again.

"I do enjoy shots, but not shots of battery acid. Ugh. What kind of vodka is that?"

"We're not fucking Aerosmith. We've got to settle for the cheap stuff."

"Who's taking shots?"

Dave injected himself in between Kurt and Reagan with interest, looking between them both as he put his arms around their shoulders. Reagan noted that he was shirtless despite the frosty conditions outside. That must have meant Nirvana was going on soon.

"Us," Kurt said. He handed Reagan back her cup, but she wrinkled her nose and passed it to Dave who happily accepted it.

"No thanks. I don't think my stomach can handle it," she said as Dave drained the shot without question and smacked his lips.

"Mine can't either. At least, that's what my doctor said," Kurt said plainly as he took his own shot. Reagan frowned.

"If your doctor said you can't drink, then why are you?" she prodded gently. She didn't want to be motherly. Never would she want Kurt, or any of the crowd she hung out with, to see her as a buzzkill. But there was something about Kurt that made Reagan want to nurture him. As far as she knew, he had that effect on almost all the women he came across.

"You're good at asking questions that I can't really answer," Kurt replied. He maneuvered himself out from under Dave's arm and wondered off, looking bleary-eyed. The line of Reagan's frown deepened.

"Let him live and learn," Dave advised her. He spun her closer into his arms and she felt warmth melt down her arms and legs when she touched his bare skin.

"That's not fair. Don't you want to look out for him?"

"I do look out for him. No one's going to duct tape his hands to his sides though to make sure he doesn't drink," Dave whispered, his mouth grazing past Reagan's cheekbone. She couldn't help but look over her shoulder to where Kurt had wandered. He reminded her so strongly of a young boy that it was almost hard to believe he was in his twenties.

There was a cluster of commotion and the sound of someone shouting for Kurt, and then Dave kissed Reagan's forehead as he grabbed her arms and took a step back.

"Time for us to go. Are you watching from out there?" he asked. There was a flash of excitement in his eyes.

"Yes," Reagan answered. He leaned in again, this time kissing her lips promptly with more energy. She felt lightheaded when he pulled away.

"Good," he grinned. "I'll look for you."

"Hey, Reagan!" called Shelli. She was standing off to the side with Chris, waving her arms. "Let's go!"

Reagan followed her friends out from the low light of backstage and into the dark sea of people that inhabited the Satyricon. The venue was brimming full, packed to every corner with concert-goers who were already full-swing drunk. Shelli took charge and grabbed both Reagan and Chris's wrist, leading them towards the front. It was an effort, one that required Reagan to use her elbows to navigate past the knots of bodies swaying around her.

"Oh my God," Chris breathed as they finally found a niche to stand in. "This is amazing. Fuck, I wish I could date someone in a band!"

"You should," Reagan said. "It will keep you on your toes."

Chris grimaced. "I've yet to find any lesbian band members in the Olympia area."

"You've got to look farther than Olympia."

"You're right. I mean, yours is from Virginia, after all."

"Dave's a lesbian?"

Shelli and Reagan dissolved into laughter as Chris delivered a playful punch to her friend's shoulder, shaking her head.

"You know what I mean."

Besides the way Reagan had managed to make herself laugh, she couldn't help but to also appreciate the way Chris had called Dave hers. Even people on the outside of their relationship seemed to understand it what was plainly clear. They were a very tight couple.

"So . . . you like him?" Reagan questioned curiously. She supposed it did not matter whether Chris liked Dave or not, mainly because she had no idea how to live without him, even if her best friend was not fond of him. But Chris's shining response left her with no worries.

"Oh yeah," she grinned cheekily. "He's funny as hell. The best you've ever found. And he's way cooler than Tommy."

"True, but Tommy and I were never a thing," Reagan said reproachfully.

"Tell that to Tommy."

Reagan ignored the jab. It was New Year's Eve, for Christ's sake. She was in no way going to be thinking about Tommy.

"I'm glad you like him," she said with a smile, allowing Chris to pull her in close to her side.

"I'm glad you brought me. I like spending time like this. And I like meeting your people."

"My people, huh?" Reagan laughed.

"Yep. They're definitely your people. Shit, I just realized you're going to be friends with famous people."

"Define famous."

"Didn't you say that they signed to a label? Gold Mountain, or whatever?"

Reagan pinched her eyebrows together as she recalled this piece of information. She had not forgotten about it, being how big of news it was, but she hadn't minded shuffling it aside. It was a lot to consider how huge Nirvana may become and what it would mean for her relationship with Dave.

"Yeah. Except they changed it up and signed with DGC, which is apart of Gold Mountain. It's hard to explain and I don't really understand all of it. It started back in November," Reagan explained. Even she knew that she sounded like a totally vague bitch. She should have been gushing with delight over the newly introduced topic.

"You seem so happy about that, Reags," Chris said, always knowing what Reagan was actually thinking.

There was no more time for talking as Nirvana finally took the stage, much to the pleasure of the audience members who whooped loudly as they walked out. Reagan glimpsed at Dave, craning her neck to watch him sit down behind his drum set and push back his hair. When he caught her looking, he winked, and she felt her heartbeat throb in response.

As expected, they played spectacularly, rousing the audience and livening the entire venue with electricity. No one dared to even look away from the stage, every pair of eyes keyed into the memorable performance that was being ingrained into every brain in the room. Reagan frequently glanced over at Chris, who appeared to be having the time of her life as she thrashed her head in time with the music. It pleased her to see Chris's approval in the form of her response to Nirvana's discordant sound.

She too would have bounced around with the rest of the crowd, but she was busy gnawing on the inside of her lip and thinking about what Chris had said regarding Nirvana's signing with DGC. It was obvious that Chris had picked up on her cautionary support for the band's endeavors, but Reagan did not want it to be that way.

She didn't want anyone to know of her fears. Those were to be kept safely hidden, tucked into a place where only she could locate them and take them out for a good panic session when needed. She'd done her damn best to be a good girlfriend to Dave and it bothered her to think that her own insecurities might be peeking through.

When the show was over, Reagan felt her arms being linked with the others in her group. Chris took her hand as they snaked their way through the audience, headed backstage. They arrived back into their original hangout area and were greeted by the sight of Kurt, Dave and Krist being accosted by several people who had joined the party.

It didn't take long for Dave's eyes to lock on Reagan. She didn't even need to wave him down or catch his attention. He'd sensed her presence in the room and he acted upon it, striding past the conversation he had been swept up into until he was standing in front of her.

There were people around who watched, but neither of them cared. Dave kissed Reagan squarely on the mouth. She tasted the beads of sweat that had formed above his lip when he'd been on stage, but she didn't mind. She loved every of inch of him, including all the other parts of his body slick with the perspiration that she felt as he pressed against her.

He made it easy not to worry. Along with his many other talents, Dave had a knack for wiping Reagan's mind clean and making sure she only had energy to concentrate on him. And frankly, she was entirely okay with that.